


absence

by mrsandman (spendon)



Series: mania au [5]
Category: Fall Out Boy, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: MANIA AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-20
Updated: 2018-02-20
Packaged: 2019-03-21 14:33:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13742973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spendon/pseuds/mrsandman
Summary: Spencer doesn't miss him.





	absence

**Author's Note:**

> unbeta'd because who am i lol

The sounds of a hospital are paradoxical. There are two sides to it - one single tone, continuous and muted, like a flatline from another room. The other side is the rush of human and monstral sound. People crying, people cheering, people panicking. Breathing, bleeding, dying. The sounds of machinery drown it own, but the underlay of monsters both grieving and in pain, with a variety of animalistic noises are what make it so intolerable. It is one of the worst places to be, and the only time a trip has been willing is with a family member. But this? This is different. He doesn’t know if it’s guilt, or obligation, or maybe just true, genuine care, but no matter what it is, it’s brought him to Pete’s hospital bed and won’t let him leave.

Spencer struggles to tune out his surroundings. The care facility for comatose patients is louder than he thought it would be. Trying to keep his channel in only on Pete’s room is difficult, but he manages to latch onto the barely present breathing of Pete and his monster instead. The vibrations of his own foot tapping restlessly against the floor give him some kind of anchor in case he needs to pull away from everything altogether. Lack of sound is just as bad as too much sound, and it’s all he can give to himself in such a quiet, quiet room. He brushes the pad of his thumb over his knuckles, feeling the rigid, raised skin left by familiar teeth. A mouth that would usually be baring fangs at him now stays relaxed in his presence - there is no recognition. There is no life to Pete, and as much as Spencer hates to admit it, it feels wrong.

For a while, he just sits there. He can feel his phone buzz in his pocket and he doesn’t have to look to know that it’s Brendon wondering if he’s okay, but he doesn’t take it out to check. Instead, he takes it as a sign that he needs to speak. He knows Pete’s not listening, but if he focuses, if he really focuses, he can hear his heart beating. It’s slow, and steady, and barely present as a sound at all - barely working, he knows this, but it’s something and it’s there. It gives him just a little bit of hope, hope he doesn’t know why he has and what for, and maybe Brendon was right. Maybe he does care, in the tiniest way, about this fucked up Frankenstein’s monster conglomerate of human and monster.

“It’s been a while since you’ve been out, y’know,” he starts, voice soft and oddly shy, for a room with only one audience member. Himself.

“I can’t say that things have changed a lot, but… _things_ have changed, I guess. In a way.” Spencer clears his throat, tugging on the collar of his shirt awkwardly. He smooths over his scar again, the memory of a Pete so alive and feral vivid in his memory. This is not the same Pete in front of him that was the Pete who left this mark on him. “Brendon and I finally got our shit together. We’re dating. I’m in love with him.”

He exhales, scratching at the back of his neck. “This is weird, Pete. We were never friends. We hated each other’s guts. So why does it feel so fucking weird without you around? You were an assignment to me. You were a mission. And then you were a coworker. Then you were kind of just a pain in the ass. But now you’re like, some kind of martyr, only you’re a vegetable instead of dead. It’s basically the same thing, I guess, as a passerby - but medically, you’re not a vegetable because you’re not braindead. You - you get the gist. Or. I get the gist, I think. Whatever. I’m not good at these kinds of monologues, soliloquies, or talking about feelings or whatever the fuck, so excuse me for stumbling my way through this.”

There’s a long silence before he starts speaking again. The air has become heavy and somber, and there’s something sobering about this “confrontation” of sorts that he’s been putting off for months now. “I don’t think I ever wanted you dead, Pete. Brendon _was_ right, I - I do fucking care about you. Even if it’s in the littlest fucking way, I care, and - and it’s not funny anymore, all of this happening. We all tried to cope, and I’m a sicko, I know, using humor and alcohol to try and cope. But it’s been months now, and - and we’re all getting tired. It’s so draining coming here and not knowing if there’s even a chance that you’re gonna wake up anytime soon, if at all.” Spencer leans back in his chair, resting his hands in his lap. “I’ve got all this energy, Pete, meant for hating you. I should hate you for keeping us waiting, and for making Brendon worry so much, and for making me care. How am I gonna hate you if you’re not even awake for it?”

He sighs. “I’m burnt out, Pete. I’ve been working for Andy now, you know, killing bad people instead of whoever I’m told to. It’s - it’s so funny to think that you were once a homework assignment to me at one point. You were a take-home project. A research paper. And all it took was the love of my life getting involved with you and your batshit crazy “destiny” or whatever to get me to finally interact with you. And for you to become some coworker whose guts I hated instead of a task.” Spencer pauses, rubbing his jaw awkwardly. “And then, maybe… a colleague? We’re colleagues now, and you don’t even know it. Fuck, Pete.”

“So you do like him, huh?” comes the voice of someone he hasn’t spoken to in a very, _very_ long time. Spencer nearly jumps out of his seat (he realizes how out of tune he was with his surroundings), snapping his gaze to the doorway, where Patrick himself stands, leaning against the frame, one hand tucked in his pocket while the other rests on his hip. He has the sad sort of smile on his face, with something analytical hidden in his expression.

“That’s not what I said,” Spencer sighs out, resting his hands in his lap. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough,” Patrick says pointedly, lifting his chin.

“Well,” he huffs, “everything I just said was… me pointing out how much I miss hating him. That kind of shit.”

“I know what you said, Spencer. Don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me.” Patrick takes the seat besides Spencer. He can feel his monster’s footsteps vibrating across the floor. “It’s really been a long time.”

“Yeah,” Spencer agrees, turning his gaze back towards Pete. “It has been.”


End file.
